


Remember

by sylveparker



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock BBC, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:14:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29366079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylveparker/pseuds/sylveparker
Summary: Sherlock Holmes loses a lot of his memories after an accident. Will he remember John Watson, or are all of their memories lost forever?
Relationships: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Johnlock, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock/John - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	Remember

POV: Sherlock Holmes

“Hurry John, he went this way!” I call behind me as I round the corner.  
He’s not getting away this time.  
I turn to look down the street when two bright yellow headlights blaze into my eyes.  
The horn of the car alerts me a moment too late, and my body is tossed over the length of the car on impact.  
I vaguely hear John calling my name, and then everything goes black as my head hits the pavement.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I groan as I slowly start to wake up.  
My entire body hurts.  
What the hell?  
I don’t remember anything.  
I must’ve overdosed.  
Damn.  
Mycroft is going to kill me.  
The bright white lights of the hospital room glare into my eyes as I pry them open.  
Yep, I definitely overdosed.  
“Good morning.” An overly cheery doctor says as he steps over to the bed. “How’re you feeling?”  
I just groan.  
He chuckles.  
“Thought so.” He says. “Do you know where you are?”  
I look around.  
Obvious.  
“Bart’s.” I answer.  
He makes a mark on his clipboard.  
“Good!” He says, enthusiastically. “And do you know who you are?”  
I sigh, this is unnecessary.  
“Sherlock Holmes.” I answer. “Shouldn’t that be in your chart?”  
He chuckles again, making another mark on his clipboard.   
“Just making sure.” He says. “You took quite a tumble.”  
He nods towards my head.  
I slowly raise my arm, and realize I’m covered in road rash.  
What the hell?  
I touch my head with my fingers, feeling the bandage wrapped around it.  
“What happened?” I ask.  
Either this overdose caused me more problems than usual, or something worse happened.  
The doctor presses a button on the IV pump.  
“You got hit by a car.” He tells me. “Hit your head pretty hard, cracked your skull, internal bleeding.”  
I blink, trying to process the information.  
“One more question, Mr. Holmes, do you know the date today?” He asks.  
The date?  
“Erm, it’s October I believe. Maybe the 15th or 16th?” I answer, looking up.  
The doctor makes a note on his clipboard.  
“And the year?” He asks, his brows slightly more furrowed than before.  
“2009.” I answer, obviously.  
I don’t know how long I was out, but I know it wasn’t long enough to change the year.   
He makes a note and then sets the clipboard and pen down on the table.  
“Okay.” He says with a sigh. “Mr. Holmes, it’s 2017. May 3rd, 2017.”  
My breath catches in my throat.  
“Your accident was on May 1st, 2017.” He continues. “You have severe brain damage resulting in memory loss.”  
2017.  
2017?  
I’ve lost 8 years of my memory from a bloody car accident?  
“Breathe Mr. Holmes.” The doctor says, resting his hand on my shoulder.  
I gasp in, only now realizing I’ve been holding my breath.  
“It’s alright.” He says, squeezing my shoulder in what I assume is a gesture of reassurance. “We’re gonna help you through this.”  
I nod robotically.  
“We have therapies for people like you.” He says, picking up his clipboard again. “People with brain injuries and memory loss, sometimes it helps.”   
I nod again, my throat too tight to speak.  
The doctor flips through his papers and looks up at me, clearing his throat awkwardly.  
“We have someone here to see you if you’d like.” He says, still looking at the paper.  
It must be Mycroft.  
“I’m not sure if you remember, but he’s your husband.” The doctor says, his voice softer.  
My heart stutters in my chest.  
Only now do I become acutely aware of the metal band on the fourth finger of my left hand.   
Husband?  
I don’t even have a boyfriend.  
Didn’t.  
8 years ago.  
“Do you want me to send him in?” He asks, looking at me finally.  
Do I?  
I look at the ring on my finger.  
It looks older.  
At least three years old.  
Not regularly removed.  
I must’ve been happy in this marriage.  
I look at the doctor, nodding.   
He smiles a tight grin before leaving the room.   
I drum my hands against my legs, unsure what to expect.  
What if I don’t like him?  
What if he doesn’t like me anymore?  
He’s got eight years of memories, I’ve got nothing.  
My pulse on the monitor beeps erratically.  
The doorknob turns and the door slowly opens.  
A short, blonde man walks into the room.  
His measured stride and short-styled haircut scream military, though his age and clothing tell me he’s retired or discharged.  
A metal band rests on the fourth finger of his left hand, identical to the one on my own.  
His face looks tired, as though he hasn’t slept in a few days at least.  
He stops a few strides short of the hospital bed, his large brown eyes scanning the room.  
They land on my eyes, and my breath catches in my throat.  
I’ve never seen this man before in my life, but something about those eyes draw me to him.  
“Sherlock?” He says softly.  
His voice is warm and inviting.  
I nod, unsure what to say.  
“Do you remember me?” He asks, taking a step towards me.  
I want to lie.  
I want to say yes, to tell him that I do.  
But I don’t.  
I can’t.  
I shake my head.  
He looks up, blinking rapidly.  
“That’s alright.” He says after a moment, his voice tight and strained.  
An unfamiliar pain burns in my chest as I watch a tear slip down the man’s face.  
He wipes his face with his hands and clears his throat, stepping closer to the bed.  
“I erm—I’m John.” He says, extending his hand to me.   
I reach out, taking his hand and shaking it gently.  
“Former name Watson, now Holmes.” He says awkwardly, dropping his hands to his sides and dropping his head down too. “We… got married in 2014.”   
He looks up at me through his long eyelashes.  
To my embarrassment, my pulse jumps on the monitor, and John’s eyes dart to the machine.  
My cheeks flush with pink as he grins, looking back down at his shoes.  
I guess being attracted to him won’t be a problem.  
I clear my throat.  
“When did we meet?” I ask, finally, breaking my silence.  
John looks up at me.  
“January of 2010.” He says softly. “We met here actually, in Molly Hooper’s lab.”  
He pulls a chair over towards the bed and sits down.  
Air wafts up towards the bed, drawing the scent of his cologne to me.  
A memory flashes through my mind, vaguely, as if through a film.  
Sitting in my chair in the flat, John’s body strewn lazily across my lap, his lips hovering inches from my own.  
I blink back into the hospital room.  
“Will you tell me about it?” I ask, looking back at John as my thumb traces over the ring on my finger.  
He smiles a soft smile as he starts talking.  
I listen to John tell me about us for hours.  
He tells me about how we met, about cases, about dates.  
He smiles and laughs, and I do the same, although I don’t recall the events.  
His happiness brings an odd feeling of distant familiarity to me.   
As the hours pass, his fingertips edge onto the bed, tracing soft patterns against the back of my hand.  
The gesture is foreign to me, something I never would’ve thought of allowing before, yet for some reason I take comfort in the featherlight touch of his fingers.  
John’s yawning becomes more and more frequent as he talks, and I know he won’t be awake much longer.  
But for some reason, I don’t want him to go.  
“Are you tired?” I ask, though I already know my answer by the deep purple circles under his eyes.  
He shakes his head, but another yawn shows his bluff.  
I swallow hard, trying to get the courage to do this.  
I push myself up, revealing a sharp pain in my ribs that I hadn’t noticed before, and scoot to the far edge of the bed.   
“You erm—you can sleep here if you’d like.” I stammer, my face filling with heat.  
John looks up at me with wide eyes.  
“Sherlock, you don’t have to.” He says softly. “It’s alright. I know you still don’t remember me.”  
He smiles a sad smile as he stands up.  
I take a deep breath.  
“I’d like it if you stayed.” I tell him, my voice coming out as hardly more than a whisper.  
He studies me with those brown eyes for a moment before nodding and sliding his shoes off.  
I hold my breath as he cautiously climbs into the bed beside me, taking care to keep every part of his body a respectable distance from mine.  
I can’t decide if that makes me relieved or sad.  
“Goodnight Sherlock.” He whispers, looking up at me.  
I look down at him, studying every part of his face.  
“Goodnight John.” I whisper back.  
He closes his eyes as he settles against the pillows, and within minutes his breathing slows.  
I stay awake, just watching him sleep, desperately trying to pull memories of him from my brain.  
I close my eyes and enter my mind palace.  
The interior of the palace is in shambles, as though it’s gone through an earthquake.  
Beams are fallen in the halls, windows are broken, doorways are cracked and hanging from the hinges.  
I walk the halls, searching for anything to do with John.  
Fragmented memories cloud the abandoned halls.  
There’s a woman dressed in all pink, a massive dog, and the weirdest sensation of falling.  
Pressure from outside my body pulls me from my thoughts.  
I open my eyes to find John’s sleeping body strewn lazily over my own.  
My heart thuds wildly in my chest as I wrap my arms around him without thinking, almost as if it’s a natural reflex.  
The soft blue fabric of his jumper rattles a door within my mind.  
I close my eyes, running down the hall and pulling the crooked door from its hinges.  
A memory of John and I sitting on a park bench floods my mind.   
He sits beside me, and my arm is hooked through his, my hand slowly tracing patterns along the soft fabric of the blue jumper.  
John is laughing as he sips at his coffee, the sun gleams in the gold of his hair and shines in the deep brown of his eyes.   
I walk back through the hall trying to collect any fragments of memories that I can.  
My eyes open again as something stirs slightly outside of my mind.  
John nestles deeper into my chest, sighing contentedly as his leg hooks around mine.   
I close my eyes as I press my nose against his hair, breathing deeply.   
The scent is musky, yet sweet.  
It’s a familiar smell, one that is recognized deep in my mind.  
Hours pass, and I spend them tracing soft designs along John’s spine as he sleeps.  
As the sun pours through the window, his eyelids flutter open.  
He smiles gently before his eyes widen in surprise.  
He sits up, jumping away from me.   
“Sherlock I—I’m so sorry.” He sputters. “I didn’t mean to I—I swear—”  
“John.” I say, cutting him off.  
He stops, looking down at his hands.  
“We were at a park once.” I say softly. “You wore that blue jumper. We had coffee.”  
A soft smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he slowly looks back up at me.  
“You remember?” He asks.  
I feel a small smile pull at my lips as well.  
“Sort of. I remember you.” I answer sheepishly.  
He chuckles softly.  
“That was the day you officially became my boyfriend.” He says. “June 17th, 2012.”  
My cheeks flush again and I look down at the silver band on my finger.  
John brushes his fingers against the bandages on my head.  
“These are pretty clean; you should be good to go home today.” He muses, turning his attention to the chart on the wall.  
“Oh, I should mention, I’m a doctor.” He says, winking at me.  
My heart beat accelerates on that damned monitor again, and he grins.   
I smile at him incredulously as he looks at the machine.   
Sure enough, the doctor comes in soon after and removes the bandages and IV’s, promptly discharging me from the hospital.  
I climb out of the bed and the room spins as my weight settles on my legs.  
“Woah.” John says, wrapping his arm around my waist to steady me. “You okay?”  
My skin tingles at his touch.  
I nod, taking an experimental step forward.  
John stays close beside me as we slowly make our way to the cab.   
“221B Baker Street.” He tells the cabbie.   
So, I still live in that flat, I guess he must live there with me too.   
Obviously.  
We’re married.  
That’ll be… interesting to get used to.  
We ride in a comfortable silence, our hands almost touching on the seat between us.  
The heat from John’s hand sends clouded thoughts through my mind.  
Vague memories of tense car rides, high adrenaline, and stolen glances in the dark.  
I peer at John through the corner of my eye.  
He’s looking out the window, the soft grey reflection of passing buildings reflect against his deep brown eyes.   
He looks significantly less tired than he did yesterday, and I smile to myself at being a contributing factor to his goodnight’s sleep.  
We pull up to the flat and get out of the cab.  
John’s arm wraps around my waist again instantly, and I don’t think to tell him that I’m not dizzy this time.  
Slowly, we walk up the stairs into the flat.  
It looks just as I’d left it.  
Okay, maybe a little cleaner.  
Okay, a lot cleaner.   
Whatever.  
It looks nice, inviting.  
John walks me to my chair, sitting me down softly.  
“Tea?” He asks.  
I nod and he smiles as he walks to the kitchen.  
Sitting in the chair at home reminds me of the memory I had last night and sends my heart thudding against my ribs all over again.  
Moments later, John walks back into the living room with the tea in his hand.  
“Three sugars, just like you like it.” He says gently, holding the cup out to me.  
I swallow hard.  
“You can set it on the table.” I croak out.  
He furrows his brow as he looks at me, but slowly sets the cup down on the table.  
I look up at him.  
“John, will you try something with me?” I ask softly.  
He nods, his eyes softening around the edges as he looks down at me.  
“Anything you’d like.” He murmurs.  
I take a deep breath, opening my arms out to him.  
“Sit with me?” I ask, my voice coming out as hardly more than a breath.  
He scans my face for a moment before nodding.  
Slowly, he steps forward and lowers his body down across my legs.  
Instantly, the familiar scent of his cologne fills the air, and my arms instinctually wrap around him.  
He sighs softly as his head burrows against my neck.  
My lips rest against his hair as my fingers trace designs against his soft jumper.  
“John?” I whisper.  
He arches his head back, looking up at me.  
“Yes?” He whispers back.  
My heart beats so fast it threatens to explode.  
But still, I lean down towards him.  
Slowly, my lips meet his.  
My body reacts instantly, pulling John closer and closer as familiar emotions burn through me.  
After a while, we break apart.  
John’s forehead rests against mine as we breathe jaggedly.  
“John.” I breathe. “I don’t remember exactly why… but I know that I love you.”  
He laughs softly as he kisses the tip of my nose.  
“’I love you’ is good enough for me.” He whispers.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, leave a comment!!


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